<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>hold me, without hurting me by bitch3s (softsmilesandbrokenhearts)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26976481">hold me, without hurting me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsmilesandbrokenhearts/pseuds/bitch3s'>bitch3s (softsmilesandbrokenhearts)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gotham (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bottom Oswald Cobblepot, Boys In Love, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:34:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26976481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsmilesandbrokenhearts/pseuds/bitch3s</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward thinks that is the reason they fall apart so hard, the reason they fought so hard and tore each other to bits. They know each other more than anyone else, and that is why they can hurt each other as much as they do. And even now, in the shaky space between them, it hurts. It aches in ways both new and old, and Edward wishes he could rid of it, destroy the thing between them. He wants to pull out of the man, and run far away, too afraid of getting burnt again.</p><p>Or, Edward and Oswald have their first time, and Edward feels too much.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hold me, without hurting me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! This is my first fic in this fandom, so I apologize for any out of character moments, as I am still working out their characters. With that in mind, I hope it is still enjoyable.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes, for being so smart, Edward feels like an absolute idiot.</p><p>When Oswald kisses him, sharp and angry, and longing all the same, Edward can do nothing but kiss him back. Unaware of what to come and what he should have done.

For once, Edward does not have a plan going in. He thinks that something like this can never be planned, emotions get in the way of pleasure, and that has always been his weakness. Oswald’s too, and so they touch each other with the intent of not losing themselves to the point of no return.</p><p>Remembering the pain that this could bring, that should they cross that line, someone will inevitably get hurt.</p><p>It is a messy and gorgeous thing of theirs, like the rest of their history, fate bringing them back together every time. From their first meeting, their rise to power, and the ugly fallout that followed. Edward is reluctant to admit to the truth, the fact of the matter, that years of bitter resentment have casted a never-ending shadow over their heads. But their feud, their friendship, have little to do with what is happening now, between them both. For once he does not analyze, or wonder what will happen once this end, the atmosphere around them is sticky and sweet, lulling him into a false security.</p><p>Their lips barely touch, just hints of lingering softness, their breaths intertwining as a parallel to their bodies. Edward can taste the sorrow and lingering anger on Oswald’s tongue, the bite to the liquor that still lines his breath. It is heavy and intoxicating in the worst way, reminding him of what they have lost and what they can never have. They breathe each other in, slowly and filled with heat, as the waves build up and crash again.<br/>
And they both do their best to ignore the grief that eats at them, the one that wants to rip them apart.</p><p>Their bodies collide, and slide against each other, soft and mean all the same. It feels like they are both trying to apologize for all their wrongdoings and get revenge for all the hurt they have felt. It is symbolic, the dance between their bodies, reminiscent of their fights and their dances slipped in between. The tension that pulls the two of them together, the one that never leaves. It would be foolish to think otherwise. </p><p>Oswald’s arms slick their way around his body, and his uneven nails cling to the small amount of fat he has left.</p><p>They grip him harshly, fiercely, as if he were simultaneously worried that Edward would disappear and yet haunted by all the times where he left instead. It is an interesting dilemma that conflicts Oswald’s mind, and Edward enjoys it, distantly and far enough away to not get involved. He likes to see how desperate the man is to fix things, and yet how angry and vindictive he still is towards Edward. He so often forgets that it takes two to fix things, and sometimes Edward does not feel like fixing things. Likes the solitude loneliness brings, and the way he does not feel split in two again, two sides arguing over the same coin. It makes him ache and hurt all over, and he hates feeling vulnerable.</p><p>What starts and ends in two common words? One painful in love, the other painful in life in general. What two words must I be?</p><p>Heartache and headache.</p><p>Something that Oswald never fails to inflict onto Edward, and yet he finds himself crawling back time and time again.</p><p>It reminds Edward of a time where Oswald was reluctant to fix things, scared to, and instead he hid behind his empire of sorts, behind his suits and visions of grandeur. He had taken too many blows, and he had decided that he was done with this game between them. That Edward and his mood swings, and overall ignorance to the softer side of life, were not worth fighting for. Of course, things have changed since then, but deep down in the part of himself where he lets himself be honest, he will admit that Oswald hurt him too. That his jealousy and ignorance to others around him is something that will always sting, that Oswald’s infuriating megalomania is nice and invigorating until it turns onto him. </p><p>Sometimes his harsher side, the one that still whispers into his ear at night, and lures him onto the line of insanity, tells him that it would be best to kill him. To sneak into Oswald’s bedroom late and night, and stab him until he bleeds out, gory and brilliant even when he is dying. That killing him, finally ridding the one thing that can get under his skin, would only make Edward stronger. The Riddler, that distinct part of himself that will never leave, gets off on it. Sees the images wracking Edward’s brain and finds it hot to the point of jacking off. </p><p>Edward is reluctant to admit that he likes it too, but he has always had a problem with that, a war between what he wants and what he thinks society wants for him. But now it is better, Edward has grown into this role and he finds that even if he wished to go back to some sense of normality, it would never work. The point is, the Riddler thinks Oswald is a weakness, and obstacle to get past. But he is wrong, and Edward knows that now, just as he knows that while the Riddler has a hand guiding his actions, Edward still has his brain, and it is only a matter of fighting himself.</p><p>Besides if Edward is to be honest with himself, the least his other half can do is be honest back. They both know that they have truly only had eyes for Oswald, whether it be in raw fury or in awe, soft and inspired.<br/>
And so here they both are, bodies pressed together, the scent of Oswald’s obnoxious cologne spilling into the open space around them. It mixes with his own, cleaner, and more earthy, until the two are unrecognizable, together as one.</p><p>Edward thrusts up into Oswald’s warm heat, and Oswald keens and makes a noise as if he were wounded. He might be for all Edward knows, and he rakes his eyes across the man’s body for any bruises, and when he finds that Oswald is relatively clean, he smiles, a small unsure thing. Oswald smiles back, just as nervous, and the two sits there like gaping fools grinning at each other. </p><p>It is weird to think that he barely knows Oswald anymore, not the way he used to, and it is a strange memory that they used to call each other best friends. They still are, beneath the betrayal and pain, and backstabbing, but it is not the same. They are too old to think that things could go back to the way they once were, bright and hopeful, and simple. Now they deal with each other in absolutes, as enemies and ex friends, and as each other’s most dangerous hope. But sometimes when Edward slips back to drug abuse, and his mind becomes a foggy canvas ready to paint, he creates a world where they are still everything to each other. He wonders if Oswald thinks the same, if the desperation that lies between their two souls is tangible if he still dreams of Edward by his side. Edward thinks he must, or he would not be here, letting Edward have him, letting him back in.</p><p>Edward trails a shaky hand up to grip Oswald’s bicep, and he notes the difference in the density, the added weight that now sits on the man on top of him. He wants to remark on it, quip some fact about the extra fat that penguins carry to keep them warm in the cold, when they have nothing else but to endure and do their best not to die. He wonders if this is Oswald’s winter, cold and bitter, and lonely in the worst of ways. Edward then wonders if he caused this, this lengthy winter, where Oswald hides from the world and eats and drinks his pain away. If he caused the man to lock himself up from emotions, never to love again. He should be proud, should be happy that Oswald has learned from his weakness, and yet he feels so strangely hollow.</p><p>Edward has always liked Oswald’s body, lithe and pale, with thick snatches of dark hair trailing down upon it. The way his eyes light up when he is particularly devious, or how when he is truly happy, he smiles shyly, as if he was unaccustomed to feeling such a simple, base emotion. It is weird to think of now, but he remembers a time where he was obsessed with Oswald. Now it makes him ache inside, so he tries to shut his thoughts up, and he kisses Oswald instead, wet, and filthy until they both gasp for air. </p><p>Oswald pulls away first, and he watches as the expression on the man’s face turns from soft to amused in less than a second. He feels a shaky thumb press against his bottom lip, and it catches their mixed saliva, threatening to drop. Edward watches with wide eyes as Oswald brings his thumb up to his mouth, and sucks on it, a dirty sound that goes straight to his groin. Edward lets out a groan, and his head knocks against Oswald’s collarbone, where he can feel the silent chuckle that rattles Oswald’s body.</p><p>The two of them have always been almost opposites, too afraid to be similar, but far too alike to truly have a clear distinction between the two of them. The only thing that does is how they compartmentalize their emotions. Oswald is like a firecracker, sharp and ready to pop off at any moment. He is volatile and emotional, and all sorts of crazy. Edward is crazy too, but he tends to stick to his brain instead of his heart. He feels deeply and greatly, but he prefers not to show it compared to Oswald, too afraid of them backfiring on him. </p><p>Edward thinks that is the reason they fall apart so hard, the reason they fought so hard and tore each other to bits. They know each other more than anyone else, and that is why they can hurt each other as much as they do. And even now, in the shaky space between them, it hurts. It aches in ways both new and old, and Edward wishes he could rid of it, destroy the thing between them. He wants to pull out of the man, and run far away, too afraid of getting burnt again.</p><p>Take me out and scratch my head, I am black were I once was red, what am I?</p><p>A match.</p><p>Jealousy is their match, the wolf in sheep’s clothing, and yet despite this he still feels it so deeply. When he sees Oswald with his pretty boy toys, he longs to bash their skulls in and prove to Oswald who he belongs to. But does he really? Edward had lost his chance at calling Oswald his long ago. And yet here they are, pulling each other close, desperate to relearn the person they once knew.</p><p>Oswald rides Edward, long and slow, and he barely keeps himself from gripping into the man’s soft thighs and thrusting his hips upward, until the two of them cry out in ecstasy. But that is not what this is about, the physical connection they have is just an excuse to be near each other. So, Edward will let it be slow and sweet, and remember every detail about it. Then, if fate is so kind as to be on his side once more, he can save his rougher fantasies for later.</p><p>His breathing is harsh, a heavy pain starting to grow in his lungs as they beg for air. But it is hard to breathe like this, in Oswald and with him in nearly every way possible. The way Oswald’s hands dig into his skin, nails scratching to the line of pleasure and pain. But Edward thinks this would not feel right without it, sweet and slow, and yet underlined with the pain that still exists in and between them.</p><p>This is their first time, a shocker that never fails to amaze him, late at night when he likes hurting himself with his regrets. He has few, but the ones he does have hurt more than enough to make up for it.</p><p>Despite it being their first time together, there were a multitude of incidents of almost firsts. Of course, there were. One look at the two of them, and anyone could tell how much they mean to the other. Where once upon a lifetime, they had lived pocket in pocket, and saw nothing but the very best in each other. How they, despite their age, fell upon a childlike innocence of emotions, and had thought that perhaps, they could find someone to trust. Edward does not miss that, or at least not enough to seek for it actively, but he wonders sometimes if he can ever have it back. If Oswald will ever look at him again with big, bright eyes and they will show nothing but love. If Edward can ever think of Oswald without it leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. </p><p>He wonders if they will ever be okay again, or if they will continue this game of false niceties and over the top betrayals.</p><p>Still, despite all of Edward’s preaching, he still likes to dream. Likes to dream without the danger of his words coming out too sharp or lined with the stale resentment that still lingers in the back of his mind. And really it should not, not when it has been years since they have really been enemies, and yet it is so much easier to fall back onto that mindset. To let hatred consume him instead of falling prey to the love that threatens to ruin him. It is the same for Oswald, visible in the way his words come out of stiff and unsure, as if he is still haunted by the past. The way he will do something in anger, vindictive and crazy, and then will stutter back in apology and forced guilt. Edward misses his Oswald, misses the way the Penguin made him ruthless and unapologetic. </p><p>He misses the time when he could witness that, without Oswald being so worried about hurting him, about losing him again. But he cannot fix this, does not have the ability to do so, and Oswald refuses to, too scared to reach out again. It is the awful thing that they have become, old and resentful, and they have graves that they must lie in.</p><p>He recalls with a vivid intensity, a warm, brilliant night at Oswald’s. It was their almost first, soft, and gentle against the edges. It was a simpler night, a simpler life for the two of them, just before Oswald had won his campaign. He remembers being drunk on Oswald’s giggles, intoxicating in the sweetest way, remembers wanting nothing but to make him happy. He still does in a way, but it is different now, less desperate, and surer. He had not known at the time that Oswald loved him, that the bright eyes that shot his way were filled with nothing but affection. </p><p>Edward was delusional, so set in this idea that he did not like Oswald, did not like men, that he had lost the many opportunities that he was given.</p><p>And he was given many that night, from soft, sultry glances, to barely shielded innuendos. Oswald had stared at him like he had hung the stars, and Edward was far too gone in his own admiration, that he had failed to notice how deep this thing between them had gone. Even if Edward had known, and had wanted to act on it, he does not think he would of that night. Not when Oswald was drunk beyond his mind and was losing coherency quicker then Edward could manage. Edward could not take that from him, his ever-decreasing morals saving the day. </p><p>He loved Oswald too much to do that, even when he was not aware that he loved him. Oswald was always right in that regard; he always was right. </p><p>He loves him too much even now when he knows he should not. Not when he hates himself for his weaknesses and hates Oswald for it too. For being irresistible to the walls he had placed in his head, the ones that should have protected him from ever being hurt again. Oswald was never supposed to be let in, and yet, here they are, breathing each other in and trying to forget the hurt they feel.</p><p>I can fill a room or just one heart. Others can have me, but I cannot be shared. What am I?</p><p>Loneliness.</p><p>Something that Gotham makes everyone inherently familiar with. Even with power and followers, Edward never managed to stop feeling lonely. He is foolish in that regard, longing for someone to be by his side when he knows that it could never happen. Not the way he wants it to. And so, the fact that they are here together, unwilling to face the consequences is so stupid. Edward wishes more than anything, that he did not still want Oswald more then he could explain. That Edward is still in awe of his power even when he has plenty of his own. He wishes Oswald in turn would quit looking up to him, with those soft bright eyes of his. That he would move on and understand that they were not meant to be. The two of them become so disappointed, their dreams crushed by the strange fate that is their reality.</p><p>It hurts the most, Edward thinks, when one knows what they mean to the other and yet they still cannot have it. It is an ugly thing, losing what you once had, and even uglier to realize it is gone. But they never listen, and they keep coming back to break and heal time and time again.</p><p>His hips stutter then, and then stop completely as the emotion that has been rising in his throat threatens to fall. Edward opens his eyes, and finds Oswald staring at him, teary-eyes and vulnerable, and so full of affection. It breaks him slightly, and he feels tears begin to cascade down his cheeks. Oswald presses a shaky hand to his cheek, and giggles a little, messy, and quiet.</p><p>“Are you really crying over this?” Oswald says, amusement clouding his voice, and Edward should be annoyed at that, should want to defend his pride. But Oswald looks close to tears as well, and Edward thinks maybe it is his turn to give. So, he says nothing, but he grins, lopsided and awkward, hoping that can convey what he is thinking. Oswald smiles back, softer and understanding, as if replying. His eyes shine with thinly veiled affection, and Edward feels it reflect on his own face, quiet and unsure.</p><p>And it is love, bittersweet and returned, impossibly so. It is so clear to him, who else could hurt him like this, who could make him lash out and hurt in return. He loves Oswald, a constant ache in his chest, and he wishes he would not, wishes the pain would cease. </p><p>Oswald still looks at Edward the way he used to, with suffocating affection, love that neither of them dared to address.</p><p>And Edward thinks that of itself is a reason to get up leave, run far away from the emotions that make him so desperately foolish and stupid.</p><p>Edward loves him, to the point of blinding anger at his idiocy, where he is so desperately scared of this love, as he has never experienced anything like it. Oswald is different in that regard, so alive and crazy, and immensely loveable. Anyone else pales in comparison to the festering, all-encompassing feelings that Edward feels for Oswald. In turn he hates Oswald for this, making him weak and soft, and all sorts of ugly. He brings out the worst in Edward, makes him want things he cannot possibly have and yet, here they are. In all their twisted, murky violence, the love is there, ever growing and changing. </p><p>There are numerous things that Edward wishes he could say, but his tongue is heavy with bitter regret. And it has become so impossibly hard to talk to Oswald, to say the words he could have said a long time ago, the ones he has yet to say and possibly never will. But they are so fragile, which is ridiculous because the two of them are crime bosses, and truly they should be thicker skinned. Edward opens his eyes that were previously closed, and he looks up at Oswald with an unsure smile. He falls into the intricate emotion that he finds, naked and open just for him.</p><p>The day he shot Oswald comes to his mind, forceful and bittersweet, and it hurts so much even now, years later. He does not regret all of it, he would be lying to himself if he did not get sick satisfaction at imagining Oswald’s face break, his face turning pale as he keeled over into the murky water. No, the betrayal he felt, still feels sometimes, is more then enough to keep Edward from repenting entirely.</p><p>He does not miss being Oswald’s lap dog, his tool for dirty deeds and whimsical delegations. He misses the purpose it gave him sometimes, in those nights where he chooses to hate every single decision he has ever made. The nights where Edward hates his ugly, darker half, where the beauty falls away and shows his crimes in their true light. They are not pretty nights, too full of drug abuse and ideation with a knife’s blade. It is what it is though, and when the morning comes, with nothing but a headache to play his remorse, he moves on the best he can.</p><p>He remembers Oswald’s eyes sad and pleading, the way his lips trembled with poorly concealed fear. Edward could nearly taste it then, it was so strong, and were he a better man he would have not found it arousing in the worst ways. Edward recalls wanting to smile, snide and cruel, but had he let his lips turn upward, he would have broken then. Broke from the hurt he felt inside, from the anger that was too large to fit in his thin frame. From the love that he had and still wants, despite it being the worst possible option. He had closed his eyes, brief and stabilizing, and when he opened them, he was alone on their dirty, cold pier. Nothing left to soothe him except for the anguished expression of his friend etched into his brain.  </p><p>All he has left is ugly memories of who they used to be, the feeling of strange glee and a guilty sadness that he will not face.</p><p>By now Edward’s cock aches, a burning festering heat inside of him, but he does not dare speed this up, not when Oswald looks down at where they connect, and smiles, dark and heavy. He looks back up at Edward, and winks, and the two of them pretend that Oswald is not crying through this, soft quiet tears. They are always so angry or sad with each other, to replace the elation and trust that used to lie between them. </p><p>And yet, despite his mood darkening, despite the tears he feels well up inside him, he wants this to last forever. He fears what will come next, that this will be their first and only time. They are connected for the first time in years, and Edward does not want to let go.</p><p>Oswald reaches up to him and cups his face with light, shaking fingers, and Edward must hold back a smile when they press down harshly, bruising, and insistent. Oswald maps his face with his harsh touches, and watches him with unsure, sad eyes. It is a dichotomy of the finest, and it is thrilling to see that he can make the criminal on top of him fall apart with his body and his mind. </p><p>Edward has the honor to tear Oswald apart and put him back together. So, in turn, Edward bares his neck for Oswald, grinning as lithe fingers wrap around his throat.</p><p>They are breathing heavy now, alcohol and sleep deprivation painting a murky scene, hazy and gray, and the most beautiful thing Edward has seen in a long time. Oswald squeezes his throat, too harsh to be considered kind, and yet the soft kisses he presses against Edward’s jaw makes up for it. Edward trails his fingers up to press his thumb against Oswald’s lips, thin and pale, and Oswald gives in and lets him into his warm heat. </p><p>He presses his index and middle fingers into Oswald’s soft palate, and he searches his eyes to see if this is okay. In turn Oswald lightens his grip slightly, slipping downward to scratch at the base of his neck.</p><p>Edward stares, fixated at the warm mouth that sucks his fingers slowly, the eyes that trace his neck, searching for bruises that will soon appear. He wants to hurt, wants to hurt Oswald in turn, and yet this, soft and achingly slow seems so desperately right. He wonders when he had started wanting Oswald’s kindness as much as his cruelness.</p><p>Wonders when he stopped telling himself he did not want this, something beautiful with Oswald. Why he feels so guilty for needing it.</p><p>That is why the pain is so welcome, the bite of Oswald’s nails and the dark, furious looks he gets even during this. Because they are too broken to act like everything is okay, to act like they love each other with nothing but pure intentions. They are too far gone to be school children with silly, little crushes.</p><p>But Edward cannot even feel it in this moment, the resentment and unsolved issues are blown away, too caught up in the weight of Oswald’s hands on his throat, and the all-encompassing heat the man brings him. The way he can taste Oswald’s sweat, and how he desperately wants to speak.</p><p>He wants to say it out loud, say the words that have haunted him for years now, the ones that constantly break him and yet make him whole. The ones that do not capture the complexity of the feelings he has for Oswald but are the only socially acceptable ones that might explain some of them. But he does not. He knows he should just say it, scream it into this awkward, sweet silence. It will break, if he says it, admits what the two of them have known for so long. If he says it now, they will have to speak on other things, and he can not do this, not by himself.</p><p>If someone is going to say it, it will have to be Oswald. He is too much of a coward to finish this, and he thinks that if he were to say it first, he would break to the point of no return. It is a strange concept, the middle word so interchangeable, that if either one was said, he should be satisfied. But both mean so much, and can hardly explain what they feel for each other, near impossible to put into words. Things between them will never be easy or simple. To simply hate him or love him would be more than enough, but Edward finds himself doing both. </p><p>The line between love and hate has always been too close for comfort.</p><p>Oswald’s fingers go back to their cruel grip, and he blanks for a moment, seeing nothing but black. Edward groans and tosses his head back, pressing his fingers against Oswald’s tongue before pulling out, and stroking his cheek gently. Oswald smiles at him with bruised, red lips, and he feels an answering caress on the bruises forming on his neck. He watches the dim light shine on the spit left on the man’s cheek, and Edward finds it incredibly difficult not to pin Oswald down and fuck him until he screams.</p><p>Edward wonders how long they can stay like this, pressed against one another and yet impossibly still. They are desperate for it, and yet they drag it out as if this were their last.</p><p>But it has always been like this, since this shaky thing between them started. Getting close to each other, close enough to feel each other’s breath only to pull away, a twisted game of tag. Torturing each other with unrivaled want and need, but never taking anything, they do not deserve. Taking would be admitting their faults, that for years now they have been unhappy due to faded rivalry and outdated anger. </p><p>Taking would be admitting that there is something there, that they were not just best friends, each other’s worst enemies.  </p><p>His eyes wrench open when Oswald begins moving, a slow and yet frantic movement, and he finds his head falling into the groove of Oswald’s neck when it all becomes too much to bear.</p><p>In the long months, years even, that they were separated, it was easy to fool himself into thinking that they were better off without each other. That Oswald and his boys for hire, and Edward and his heart falling for women that look like his past, that all of this was somehow better. That living their lives in relative normality and forgetting about each other was the best thing they can do. It is one thing to think it and another to believe it, and Edward is terrible at convincing himself.</p><p>Because Oswald is his other half in many regards. He has loved before, has found love in many things, but nothing compares to how he feels about Oswald. Oswald may have not been his first love, might not be his last, but he will always be the most significant. He is not daft enough to think that who he is as a person is not because of Oswald, and the calculated cruelness and easy confidence in Oswald did not have something to do with Edward. </p><p>They build each other up, it is only reasonable to take each other down as well.</p><p>Once upon a time, Edward was stupid enough to think he had the strength to forget this. It was impossible, he could not stay away, not forever at least, and so the lunch dates began. They were not pleasant at first, but the cruel words he threw across the table made Oswald speak to him, and for a while it was enough. They grew casual, no longer about posturing over expensive food and wine, and suddenly they became a part of his daily routine. It became so normal that he began to look forward to seeing Oswald again, to hear him laugh, and soothe the ugly emptiness that he sometimes feels inside.</p><p>He could not stay away, the twisted strand of fate between them was too strong, and if he had not wanted this, he should have never approached Oswald. Should have never looked at the beautiful and strange ruler of Gotham and dreamt of a future with him. He should have taken the pretty fantasies that floated through his head and destroyed them, before all he could think of was blue eyes and snarky laughs. Back when he was foolish enough to believe love was a good thing, that it did not make him ache in all the worst ways, back when he was innocent enough to still be okay.</p><p>But he has always had a foolish heart, and so the meetings continued.</p><p>And then suddenly Oswald was at his door, talking about how friends should be comfortable in each other’s homes. Edward was not aware they were friends again, but it made sense, this demented circle that inevitably brings them back to the start.</p><p>It was strange at first, in that way where you know the things you should say and do, and yet some invisible force keeps you from doing them. But then Oswald pulls out wine, and they fall into conversation, giggly and hazy, reminiscent of what they used to be, a memory that is not ruined by years of hate.</p><p>He had watched Oswald’s fingers unbutton his overcoat, and he had been so caught up in the light dancing on the man’s pale fingers, that he failed to notice the searching look Oswald gave him or the way he hesitantly scooted closer.</p><p>Oswald had looked up at him so suddenly, cheeks ruddy, with a smile playing on his lips. It was watery around the edges, always so sad, and he watched distantly as Oswald reached out to pat his shoulder and grip it awkwardly, as if they have never touched before. This is where Edward broke.</p><p>“I’ve missed you.” He said quietly, and it is ridiculous because Oswald is right there, but is he really? No, not the Oswald that exists in his head or the one that lies in some of Edward’s fondest memories. He had been afraid of his admissions in that moment, scared to break the shaky truce between the two, and what this might do. Miraculously this only strengthens Oswald’s resolve, and he finds arms wrapped around him in the next moment. </p><p>They do not cry in that moment, but a heavy, strange silence fills the room, where the two of them grip each other with bruising touches and breathe each other in with choked breaths. Eventually Oswald is the one to pull away, and with a strange expression on his face, he locks eyes with Edward, and he knows in that moment what will happen before it does.</p><p>Oswald kissed him then, lips locked onto his own in a fierce, bruising kiss. Edward could feel its anger and the loss that lies in it, as well as the cautious hope that is beneath it all. It was perfect.</p><p>Edward breaks his own thoughts and begins to move again, pressing up into the gentle heat of the man on top of him. Edward licks the collarbone pressed against his nose and holds back the urge to lie Oswald out and memorize every single one of his bones. Oswald’s cries get stifled in his hair, as a particularly harsh thrust shakes him and picks him apart. Oswald’s fingernails dig into his shoulder blades, sharp and grieving in their touch, afraid to let go and lose him, but angry that he has him, that he gave into this. Edward in turn grips Oswald back, presses his fingers into Oswald’s soft hips and shaking thighs, as he tries not to fall apart and lose himself. </p><p>Edward lets go of him with one hand and drags his hand back up to Oswald’s mouth.</p><p>“Suck them for me.” His voice is hoarse and broken, but it seems to do the trick because Oswald’s eyes widen and then narrow in bemusement. He complies though, and swiftly draws two of his fingers into his mouth again. Edward lets himself imagine pressing his cock into this mouth instead, and he groans, knocking his head against Oswald. The man groans and spits his fingers out, while tossing a glare in Edward’s direction.</p><p>Edward smirks and drags his hand down to the cleft of Oswald’s ass, where he ends, and Oswald begins. Oswald makes a small whining noise, and a bright blush starts crawling down his chest. Oswald sucks in a breath, gasping for air, a sentiment that Edward knows intimately, the burn in his lungs and the water in his eyes still threatening to spill. He is drowning and it is perfect, and ugly in the best sort of way.</p><p>“Can I?” Edward questions, and it is the first time either of them has asked permission for anything since Oswald had so gracelessly crawled on top of him. He rubs a little harder at the edge of where he enters Oswald’s body and tilts his head, waiting for an answer.</p><p>Edward wonders if it would be an appropriate moment to tell Oswald he would still do anything for him, but he figures is would ruin the moment, too true and yet not true at all.</p><p>“Please, anything.” Oswald pleads, voice high pitched and worn. “Come break me.”</p><p>He presses at the tight ring, and he revels in the sharp gasp Oswald lets out when two fingers press in and join Edward’s cock. Oswald looks down at him with watery eyes and an expression so affectionate it burns. Edward’s heart hurts now, beating frantically against his chest, and he feels so much, more than he could every possible explain. Tear prick at his eyes as he begins to thrust sporadically, losing rhythm as waves begin to drown them both.</p><p>“Oswald. Please.” It is a whisper, barely there, because if he speaks any louder, he knows he will cry again. He drags his other hand down to the man’s cock and tugs on it swiftly, reveling in the tiny whines that shudder against his skin. Oswald hums against his forehead, more a breath of hot air than anything, and his hands grip Edward’s biceps harshly, desperate, and needy.</p><p>“Are you-” Oswald breaks off, a groan escaping his lips, and Edward feels it then, the precipice just waiting for him to fall. “Now please.” He begs and Edward complies, coming with a shaky moan and a final thrust into beautiful man on top of him.</p><p>He then in his shaky bliss feels Oswald tense up, back going straight and his face contorts into agonizing pleasure. It is something Edward will remember forever, lithe hips twitching weakly against his, as he spills into the only person he has ever truly loved. They are breathing hard now, gasping for the air that has all but left the room, too heated and sickly sweet to fill their lungs. It feels different now, once they have come down, with the alcohol bleeding through their veins and their sticky pride tensing up. It leaves Edward with a sense of clarity he had lost in the moment, and it is horrifying.</p><p>It must hit Oswald in the next moment, because he pulls away slightly, with trembling lips and eyes that are no longer pitch black. There is no regret between them, not yet, but there is worry and fear, and it hurts more than it truly should.</p><p>Before Edward can say anything, and ruin the stilted afterglow, Oswald collapses downwards onto the bed, and drags him down with him. The two of them lay on their sides and face each other in the silence. Pain slowly slips into his mind, and his throat absentmindedly aches, a testament to what just happened. Edward winces slightly, and Oswald half-smiles, eyes soft and amused. Edward feels heavy and tired, but he does not dare close his eyes, for fear that if he opens them, Oswald will be gone. </p><p>But things feel so strange now, stilled, and awkward, and Edward is desperate to say things that he really should not. He looks at Oswald, who glows a gentle blue underneath the pale lights, and he is beautiful, enough to make Edward choke on the words in his throat, pining and in love. Oswald fixes him with a knowing look, wise beyond his years, and he speaks before Edward can stop him.</p><p>“It is funny Edward, this is the first time we have seen each other properly in years, and neither of us have the words to say anything.” Oswald’s voice is laced with fond amusement, but Edward is not fooled, he can see the shake in the purse of Oswald’s mouth, and the way his hands reach out as if they want to touch but cannot. It was like the strange fog that settled over them, the one that let them kiss and fuck each other, was the only thing that allowed this. And now that it is gone, they have gone back to a flawed reality. Edward does not know how to answer, not without being angry and rude, or genuine and too sincere. He tries anyway, and he fixates on the red marks that cover the other man’s neck, instead of the piercing blue eyes that see right through him.</p><p>“Maybe now that you have gotten what you want, we do not need to talk. A good fuck is all you ever wanted from me Oswald.” He grimaces as the cruel words slip out unconsciously, and Oswald seems to be surprised too, but that might be due to him cussing rather than anything else. He looks up at Oswald, expecting furious indignation and narrowed eyes, but instead he looks over to find Oswald shaking with silent chuckles. It continues until Oswald is cackling into the pillow beneath him, and Edward cannot help but laugh as well, tensed up and confused, but all too happy to hear the man laugh so freely.</p><p>It takes a moment for Oswald to calm down, and when he does, he raises his head and he can see tears streaming down his face, ones that he wipes away fruitlessly. He does not look sad in this moment, but Edward knows the tears are, built up from everything that has happened and only barely been allowed to fall. Edward stares at him and tries not to be concerned for his safety when Oswald’s eyes find his again, and they are filled with a mixture of annoyance and a lingering fondness.</p><p>“This is stupid Edward, what are we doing?” His tone is shrill, and Edward cannot tell if he is genuinely angry or not, he cant read him the way he used to be able to, and so he pulls away with frustration, and tries to sit up. An arm grabs his waist before he can, and he is thrown back down onto the bed and pulled until he is pressed against Oswald.</p><p>Oswald chuckles again and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I have missed this, not this, but I have missed you.” It is achingly earnest in a way they usually are not with each other, and it affects Edward so clearly, a shudder crawling through his body. Oswald quiets down, and a subtle frown mars his face, one that Edward is intimately familiar with. He stares back, and the air grows thick again, unmoving and strangled.  </p><p>Edward gets desperate, a needy shrill feeling that settles in the bottom of his throat. He opens his mouth to say it, get it over with and break all the promises he made to himself so long ago. But he hesitates, and Oswald must see it, as his eyes soften and then narrow in frustration.</p><p>“Say it, come on Ed.” Oswald demands, voice deep and not quite angry, and yet it still burns, red hot and furious. Edward wonders how Oswald can still read him; know the words he wants to say before they leave his mouth. He shakes his head, sharp and furious, like a petulant kid, and Oswald rolls his eyes.</p><p>A harsh poke jabs his chest and Oswald continues, “Say it you coward.” This time he sounds angry, and Edward can feel his own fury build up and ready itself for a fight. He opens his mouth in righteous indignation, and a shaking hand slaps over his mouth to stop him. Oswald gives him an unimpressed glare, and visibly takes in a calming breath before speaking again. “Must I always be the one to beg and bare myself first?” He asks, and squeezes Edward’s chin in warning when Edward opens his mouth to retort. He breathes in the scent of their bodies lying on Oswald’s hand, and watches with wary eyes as Oswald’s face goes through a mix of emotions before settling on fond weariness.</p><p>Oswald inhales, and it is a shaky thing when its released back into their shared space. Edward watches with anticipation as Oswald shakes his head and looks back at Edward with unsure eyes. Edward nods once, pleading, and scared, and Oswald shoots him a dirty look before sighing, heavy and put off, as if he were being forced to commit murder. Edward reconsiders that statement, and figures murder would be easier than whatever this is.<br/>
“God, you always are such a jerk.” Oswald lets out a frustrated huff, before he grabs Edward by the shoulders and pulls him forward, to awkwardly press their foreheads together. Edward closes his eyes and breathes out, letting himself take in the moment before it all crumbles around him. “I love you.” He says quietly and unsure, watching Edward with wide affectionate eyes.</p><p>It is simples, and anticlimactic, but the years of fighting and pining catch up to him, and so it hits hard. He gasps and surges forward to kiss Oswald, soft and chaste, because his lungs cannot deal with anything harder. He pulls back after a long tense moment and he looks at Oswald, who is pale and stiff, lips trembling with anticipation. </p><p>“I love you too. So much.” Edward says, crumbling beneath the fond look that Oswald gives him, relief filling the air around them. And he does, he loves Oswald to the point where he cannot handle it, where his logic falls prey to his weaker emotions. Yet, in this moment, with Oswald looking at him as if he hung the stars, he wonders if love could ever be weak.</p><p>Edward is aware enough to know this will not solve everything, but he sees their future now, bright, and powerful, and he thinks that it is worth the pain that could still follow this. He smiles at Oswald, an emotional shaky thing, and Oswald smiles back, teeth shining in the dim light.</p><p>They quiet down, listening to the steady rain that begins to hit the windows and each other’s breathing patterns and how they begin to match each other. It feels clear and bright, in a distant way that they have not been in a long time, and when the sun shines into the room and falls on the two of them, it feels like fate.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Angst, sex, and feelings; the perfect trio.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>